Five Flavors of Dumb (24 page)

“Can we really get paid, Mom?” I asked.

“Yes. If they stall, I’ll sue them. And I’ll win.”

I reached over and hugged her tightly. “Thanks.”

Mom hugged me right back. “You’re welcome. Although there’s one more thing I need to say.”

“What?”

“I probably don’t need to tell you this, but I love you.”

“I love you t—”

“And you’re grounded. I mean, totally grounded. Evenings, weekends, everything. I want you home straight after school every day. Understand?”

A part of me wanted to fight her, but what for? She didn’t need to tell me I was grounded. I’d have been shocked if I wasn’t.

Besides, it was still totally worth it.

I cranked up my laptop before we set off for school, and with Finn riding me like a sadistic personal trainer, I set up a link so that people could download songs from Dumb’s MySpace page for a buck apiece. (Even if the band turned out to be history, I figured there was nothing wrong with making a little money on the side while the craziness lasted.) It required hastily establishing a PayPal account and removing all the cover versions we’d done, because I had no intention of wasting weeks haggling with the copyright holders. But as I completed the task, step by excruciatingly painful step, I knew that no one else in the band would have done it. And it made me feel surprisingly . . . well,
managerial
.

I ran into school as bells drilled incessantly through the emptying halls, but I didn’t even make it to homeroom before I’d been redirected to the principal’s office. As soon as I arrived, a secretary pointed me to one of the hard plastic chairs reserved for the worst offenders, where I awaited sentencing. A minute later, Kallie and Tash sloped in, wearing contrasting looks of trepidation and defiance. I was glad Tash was there—always good to have a veteran when going into battle for the first time.

I think the principal had prepared a speech especially for the occasion—it wasn’t every day he got to flex his disciplinary muscle with students like Kallie and me—but he seemed flummoxed by my hair. He clearly hadn’t anticipated such a distraction. Every time he tried to hone in on a point, his eyes gravitated toward my head, and he lost track of his thoughts. Eventually he dropped the proselytizing and hurried us on to in-school suspension instead. Josh and Will were sitting outside his office as we left. I gripped Kallie’s hand and looked straight ahead.

Being cooped up in a cupboard-sized room with one small window was supposed to have been punishment, but with Tash and Kallie, it was anything but. We spent the whole time corresponding by hand gestures, while avoiding the glares of the secretary sent to keep us from trashing the place. It quickly became clear that Tash and Kallie had picked up some of my signs, and what they didn’t know, they made a good attempt to improvise. I wondered if Josh and Will would be joining us, but I guess the principal had envisaged how that might play out, and had decided to put them elsewhere. Thank goodness.

I’d only been in there an hour when one of the secretaries came in and told me my father needed to see me urgently. My first thought—completely irrational—was that something had happened to Grace, and I left the room in a daze. The secretary led me through to a private office, opened the door slowly, and ushered me in with a wave of her hand. By the window, hands stuffed in the pockets of an ill-fitting tweed jacket was—

“Baz?”

Baz’s mouth hung open in shock, his eyes fixed on my hair. It wasn’t until I coughed that he seemed to break from the trance. “Oh, right, yes. I’m sorry to disrupt your school day, Piper, but it’s your, your ...” He turned away, took a shuddering breath while he came up with a plausible excuse for showing up unpermitted on school grounds while impersonating my father. “Your grandmother.”

The secretary didn’t seem terribly interested. Whether or not the news was about to be tragic, I had pink hair, so all I received was a curt nod as she backed out of the door and closed it behind her.

“What the hell?” I barked.

“Don’t you ever check your text messages?”

“I had a hundred and forty-three of them. When am I supposed to check a hundred and forty-three messages?”

“Mine was important.” He pouted.

I shrugged. “Why didn’t you call my parents?”

“After yesterday’s shenanigans? You really think they’d talk to
me
?”

Good point. “What’s going on, Baz?”

Baz pulled off his jacket, threw it on the back of the nearest chair. “I hate suits,” he moaned, tugging at the collar of his pink shirt.

“Then why did you wear one?”

“I was trying to imitate your father, remember? Why else do you think I cut my hair?”

He turned around and sure enough, the ponytail had gone. I almost felt bad for him. “Oh.” I had to stifle a laugh. “Dad’s into jeans and T-shirt these days.”

Baz’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

“Absolutely. But I must say, you look very sharp. Very corporate.”

“Ha-ha.” Baz tugged at his collar again. “I’ll have you know I had to stop at Goodwill to pick this stuff up. Cost me ten bucks. Don’t think I won’t be claiming it back from your fee either.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What fee?”

“What fee, indeed.” Baz sat down, afforded himself a smile now that he’d piqued my interest. “I got a call last night from the manager of GBH, aka Grievous Bodily Harm.”

He’d lost me already. “What’s Grievous Bodily Harm?”

“Technically, it’s the British legal equivalent of violent assault.”

“Lovely.”

“Yeah, but it’s also the name of a Brit indie group, whose American tour has been getting good press.” He paused, waiting in vain for me to express admiration. “Anyway, the manager of GBH is considering asking you to open for them at the Showbox on Saturday.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“No. I know it’s short notice, but I think you could do it. The set is forty-five minutes max. You could get away with forty, maybe even thirty-five if you’re willing to smash an instrument or two at the end.”

I rolled my eyes. “Did you see what happened yesterday?”

“Yeah. Pretty hard core too. I knew you wanted to get away from the soft rock label, but I was impressed by your commitment to faking a meltdown.”

“We weren’t faking.”

“Oh.” Baz paused, thought about this. “Look, Piper, bands fall out. But at the end of the day, they’re like family. You get back together because you have to, because you’re stronger together than you are apart.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

He nodded solemnly. “Too bad. This would’ve been a sweet gig for an aspiring band. Great exposure. Good money too.”

I finally sat down. “How good?”

“Not so fast. Before he negotiates, the manager needs to know you’re still going to be together on Saturday, and that you’ll promise to behave.”

“Not sure, and not sure.”

“If you can make that yes and yes, you might make yourselves two hundred dollars each.”

My pulse quickened. “Okay, then. Yes and yes.”

Baz threw up his hands in frustration. “Is that a
real
yes, or a
maybe
yes?”

“Baz,” I choked, pretending to be offended. “Would I lie to you?”

He leaned forward and massaged his temples in slow circles.

“So what’s with the late notice?” I asked.

“They had an opening act lined up, but the band had a, uh . . . falling out. They’re not technically together anymore.”

“I hear that’s happening a lot these days.”

“Yes.” Baz pursed his lips disapprovingly, but it looked kind of cute on him. “So here’s the deal. If Dumb is still together, he wants to meet with you. Five p.m. at my studio.”

I shook my head. “No can do. I’m grounded. It’d have to be at school. Say, straight after final bell at two fifteen.”

Baz laughed. “You can’t really expect me to bring the manager of GBH to a high school for a business meeting.”

“Yup. And we’ll need to keep it hush-hush. Otherwise I’ll probably spend the rest of senior year in suspension.”

“Good grief.” Baz pulled himself up and grabbed his jacket. “Okay. Two fifteen, by the main doors. But don’t be surprised if he’s late. He has to come here from Portland.”

“If he’s late, I’ll be gone.”

“Oh, for God’s sake—”

“I’m not being difficult, Baz! I’m grounded. I couldn’t stay late even if I wanted to.”

“Okay, I’ll make sure he’s here at two fifteen,” he groaned, like he was guilty of having conceded too much ground. And, truth be told, he absolutely had.

I stole a moment to text Finn, begging him to meet me by the main doors at 2:15. I got the feeling I could benefit from a personal assistant, and Finn was uniquely qualified for the position.

Once we left the room, Baz flounced through the office toward the exit without so much as a good-bye. He was almost gone when the secretary looked up.

“Hello!” she shouted to get my attention. (A gentle wave would have been infinitely preferable.) “Aren’t you going to give your father a hug?” she asked indignantly.

Baz stopped and turned around. “Oh, good idea.”

My jaw fell open. “No way!”

“What has
happened
to you, Piper?” cried the secretary. “You used to be such a good girl.”

“Yeah, Piper,” Baz echoed. “What has
happened
to you?” The wicked glimmer in his eye had returned, and suddenly I had to keep from laughing.

I bit my lip. “Come on, then, you dirty old man.”

I stepped forward and smacked a kiss on Baz’s lips. He looked petrified. The secretary looked horrified. I felt vindicated.

“Run along now, Daddy,” I said.

Baz stumbled against a table on his way out, and tried pushing the door marked “pull” several times before correcting himself. He left without looking back.

I turned around in time to catch the secretary shaking her head. I could see her staring at my hair, weighing up my odd behavior, and realizing, at last, that maybe she’d been wrong about me all these years.

You and me both
, I thought as I ambled back to suspension.

I didn’t get out of suspension until 2:23. The principal wanted to read us the riot act one last time, and slowed down when he noticed how agitated I was. In an attempt to ram his point home with the utmost force, he even started lecturing directly to my hair. I let it go on for almost a minute, then began running my hands through my hair seductively, like an actress in a shampoo commercial. Almost immediately he turned bright red, and seconds later we’d been excused. I sprinted along the corridors and almost knocked Finn over as I turned toward the main entrance.

What’s the emergency?
he signed.

Finn’s eyes grew wide.
GBH? The band?

I nodded.

Finn looked as though he might pass out.
So why am I here?

No! You can do this without me.
Finn began to turn away, but I pulled him back around.

Finn rolled his eyes, but when I took his hand he didn’t pull away. Together we walked outside and greeted Baz, who was loitering on the sidewalk. The manager for GBH stood beside him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other impatiently. He was older than I’d imagined, heavyset and balding, with a Bluetooth earpiece flashing neon and an ugly brown sports jacket with leather patches over the elbows. I couldn’t help thinking that as managers went, I looked much cooler than him.

“I’m Mike, and you’re late,” he barked.

I turned to Finn, who passed along the message in sign language.

“What’s this?” Mike asked, with curled upper lip.

“Piper’s deaf,” explained Baz. “I told you that.”

I smiled ambivalently, like I had no idea what was going on.

“Jesus Christ.” Mike rolled his eyes. “I thought you were joking.”

I already hated Mike, so once I’d pointed in the direction of a nearby picnic table, I walked unnecessarily quickly. I figured I’d at least get him sweating.

I sat down next to Finn and pulled my jacket collar tightly around my neck. The sky was blanketed in gray, one of those days when it feels like the previous night never completely ended. Mike and Baz sat down across from us and Mike removed his coat, beads of perspiration dotting his forehead.

“So you’re her translator?” Mike asked, pointing a stubby finger at Finn.

“Her interpreter.”

“Same difference. Well, start by telling her that I need to be sure Dumb is still together. I don’t need any more stunts like that crap they pulled yesterday. This is a serious business.”

Finn nodded decisively, then turned to me.
Did you get that?

Finn was in the process of assuring Mike that Dumb was still together when Mike brandished a contract and shoved it toward me. “Tell her to sign here and here.”

I glanced at the contract—a single page with details of the location and time of the performance, and a stipulation that all five members of the band attend. The last line had been added by hand, but I couldn’t exactly blame him in light of recent events. The contract specified $100 per band member, for a total of $500.

Finn cocked an eyebrow.
Wow. That was easy. I’m good at this.